


Touch of the Heart

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: CSI: NY
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac remembers their first date.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch of the Heart

ICU nurse, Elsie Campbell, was on her way back to the unit after a much deserved break. “Eight hours down, four to go,” she reminded her aching feet.

Stepping off the elevator, she took a second to redistribute the four steaming cups of coffee she held in her hands. It was just her luck that the hospital’s local Starbucks’ vendor was out of carriers. She had enough trouble walking and balancing one cup, much less four. Her waiting co-workers better darn well appreciate the effort.

Elsie nodded a brief hello to the night housekeeper before cautiously approaching the automatic doors leading to the unit. She didn’t even want to begin to contemplate the mess, much less the possible injury to herself, if some fool came barreling out of the unit and ran smack into her.

“Like that hasn’t happened before,” she noted with a sarcastic chuckle.

The wicked demons of Fate loved pissing her off and did so on a routine basis. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of times she’d been the victim of what was known around the hospital as ‘IHR’ – Intern Hit and Run.

Trinity was a teaching hospital, and therefore, overrun with first, second and third year interns. The first year students were the worst. They walked around as if in a bewildered daze, unsure of where they’d been and confused as a goose as to where they should be going. They were the ones the staff went out of their way to avoid, especially if they valued their lives.

Elsie stared hard at the doors in front of her. After a full minute she finally decided all mischief-seeking spirits were safely tucked in their beds and aimed her elbow at the button that would signal the doors to open. Before she could make contact with the silver disc, a pair of hands took possession of the most precariously balanced cups.

“May I be of assistance?”

Elsie let out a muted scream. “Shit!”

Caught entirely by surprise she nearly dumped the remaining cups of coffee all over herself. Luckily, at the very last second, she regained a secure grasp on the Styrofoam containers. Several more curses rose to her lips, but she silenced them all with a huge sigh of relief when she realized she wouldn’t be visiting the Burn Unit as a patient.

The doors to ICU had swung open by the time Elsie finished gathering her wits about her. Entering, she glanced to the side and found Mac Taylor walking next to her, a tight smile gracing his face. Without a word she handed over her bounty to the two nurses rushing toward her at break-neck speed. Mac copied her actions and chuckled slightly when four individual groans of unmistakable pleasure welcomed the fragrant beverage.

“Thanks for the help,” Elsie told her heaven-sent assistant. Grabbing her stethoscope from the desk, she followed the somber-looking man into the room where his significant other lay unconscious.

Detective Don Flack was recovering from major surgery and had yet to awaken. The handsome police officer and his life-partner, along with other members of the NYPD had been evacuating an office building targeted by a serial bomber. Mac had actually been the one to discover the device, but it was Flack who had taken the brunt of the explosion when the bomb went off.

Elsie was on duty the night they brought Flack out of the OR. As charge nurse of the ICU, she’d assigned herself to the high-profile patient and, therefore, was privy to what went on behind the checkered curtain of cubicle eight.

The first night her focus was totally on her patient. Flack was in critical condition and more than once she’d been forced to page the resident on call. They had worked tirelessly throughout the night to keep the young detective alive. By the time her shift was over, Elsie was beyond exhausted and had barely glanced at the man and woman who’d entered Flack’s cubicle the moment visitors were allowed in the unit. The man was still there when she’d returned to work the next night; and it was evident from the haggard look on his face and the rumpled condition of his suit that he’d been there all day.

Flack’s condition was still critical but guarded, and because the unit was unusually quiet, Elsie had allowed her patient’s taciturn visitor to remain at the bedside. She knew it was against the rules, but it hadn’t been that long ago when her own mother had been an ICU patient. She clearly remembered the long, anxious, nail-biting hours she’d spent sitting in an unfamiliar waiting room in an unfamiliar hospital, counting the minutes until she could see her mother.

The memory of that time was the reason she ignored designated visiting hours. If the unit was quiet, family members were free to come and go. Not only did she feel it helped her patients, but it also provided her the opportunity to offer support to the families. Doctors came and went, seldom spending more than a few minutes at the bedside and even less time speaking to those anxiously waiting for news of their loved ones. Elsie understood the demands on the medical staff and had no problem taking up the slack. It was what nurses did.

Besides, she was a people-person and seriously enjoyed talking. It hadn’t been that easy getting Don Flack’s visitor to open up. The man was not a chit-chatter, whatsoever, and every scrap of information she’d gleaned from the tight-lipped Mac Taylor was like a cherished prize.

It wasn’t until the wee hours of the second morning that she figured out why the man was always underfoot. Even though each ICU cubicle had no door per say, she, out of respect for her patients, always gave a little tap on the window before entering. She had just exited Flack’s room when she remembered she left her clipboard at the bedside. Re-entering without her usual knock, Elsie caught Mac standing next to the bed.

It wasn’t so much the way he was pressing his hand to Flack’s chest that alerted her to the truth of their relationship, but the look of absolute anguish on his face. Mac rarely showed any emotion, and this brief glimpse was like a blinding beacon of light. It hit Elsie smack in the face, and she knew right then and there that the two men were more than just colleagues.

Turning a blind eye to the uncharacteristic display, she collected her clipboard and turned to leave. She was nearly at the door when something about the man’s dejected posture stopped her. Silently she walked to Mac’s side and briefly touched him on the shoulder. Once she had his attention, she offered him an understanding smile and said, "I’ve been where you are. If you need to talk, I’m ready and willing."

It wasn’t much, just a simple show of support. But from that moment on, any question she put to Mac had been answered without hesitation.

Fitting her stethoscope in her ears, Elsie listened to Flack's heart. She then checked his lungs, his bowel sounds and assessed the circulation in his hands and feet. Last but not least, she lifted up his gown and inspected the abdominal dressing she’d changed at the beginning of her shift. There was a small amount of bloody drainage on the gauze bandage, and she immediately marked its boundaries with her pen.

“We’ll need to keep an eye on that,” she informed Mac when the man’s watchful gaze zeroed in on what she had done. “A little break-through drainage is expected. If it’s more than that, I’ll need to take a look underneath.”

Mac nodded his head and moved to the chair he’d occupied for the past two nights. “I spoke with the surgeon this morning. He’s worried that Don hasn’t regained consciousness.”

Elsie considered that tidbit of information for a brief second. Sidney Dupont was a talented surgeon but didn’t know beans about the mind’s healing powers. She patted Mac on the arm. “I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Your man’s been through quite a lot. First the bomb, then surgery. He’ll wake up when he’s good and ready to wake up and not a moment before.”

Leaning over the side-rail, she gently straightened the sheet and blanket covering her patient. “Don’t forget you have the best neurologist in town on the case, and he says everything is fine. Don’s EEG is normal, his reflexes are good.” Elsie looked over her shoulder. “Have patience, Mac. Don’ll be tickling you behind the ear in no time.”

Elsie hid her grin when she saw the blush of embarrassment staining Mac’s cheeks. Earlier during her shift, the man had confessed how much he missed his partner’s obsession with touching. Don, it seemed, was more comfortable with open displays of affection, whereas Mac kept his emotions in check and only allowed them free reign once the two of them were behind closed doors. There was one touch in particular that Mac missed the most, and he’d grudgingly admitted how anxious he was to feel that special brush of Don’s fingers again.

Giving into her curiosity, Elsie asked, “When was the first time Don treated you to the ‘touch’?” She settled back against the wall opposite Mac, dividing her attention between the activity outside cubicle eight and the two men within. “I think you mentioned meeting Don about two years ago? At a 9-ll reunion ceremony, if I remember right?”

Mac nodded his head. “Believe it or not, I had actually considered not going that year. There was this huge case we were investigating and…”

 

Mac waited until the very last of the families and friends had filed past the memorial site. With only a few remaining in line, he stepped forward and placed a single flower on the ground. It was a perfectly formed tulip in the beautiful shade of pink. Not only was it Claire’s favorite flower, but it was also her favorite color. Once finished he walked across the site to a waiting crowd of firemen and was instantly welcomed into their midst.

“Mac!” called one of the older men. “Thought you weren’t coming. What changed your mind?”

Mac traded handshakes with Shane Winchester, a tall, burly firefighter from the South Bronx. “Things worked out at the last moment, and here I am.”

Mac offered his friend a rare smile. To be honest, the real reason for his presence wasn’t just a lucky turn of events. Stella had literally shoved him out the rear exit of the lab, insisting he attend the ceremony. Mac had remained in the stairwell for a full minute before heading downstairs. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go and pay his respects to those who had perished along with his wife. It was just that he felt it was time to get on with his life and knew reliving the memory of what could have been wasn’t the way to go.

He was literally in the process of going back upstairs when thoughts of his Irish friend had him turning on his heel and exiting the building.

“How’s the family?” Mac asked the man walking beside him.

With the familiarity of old friends, Shane threw an arm around Taylor's shoulder and directed him toward the designated parking area. “The wife’s expecting again,” he answered with a grin. “Baby’s due in January.”

Looking back at the spot designated Ground Zero, Shane’s larger-than-life smile slipped momentarily from his face. “It’s gonna be a boy,” he announced quietly, “and since we named our first one after Dad, this one’s gonna be named after Jake.”

As many of those walking with them, Shane came from a family of firemen. Both his grandfather and father, along with several uncles, cousins and one of his brothers had worked as firefighters. The tragic destruction of the Twin Towers had claimed the lives of not only his dad, Joseph Winchester, but also his youngest brother, Jake.

Mac had met up with Shane on the eve of the first year anniversary of September 11th. He’d forced himself to attend the ceremony and, when overcome with grief, had impulsively located the nearest bar. He’d been drowning his sorrows with beer and was about to switch to something stronger when Shane had stumbled in and took the seat next to him. There was an immediate connection, and the two had spent the remainder of the evening sharing their stories and their grief. By the time the bar closed, they were well on their way to becoming steadfast friends.

Inevitably, it wasn’t long before Shane was taking an active interest in Mac’s love life or lack, thereof. What made it even more meddlesome was the fact that he wasn’t the only one. Many of Mac’s friends and family members had encouraged him to get on with his life, to start dating. The trouble with Shane was that he had been the most zealous in his matchmaking efforts.

“You’re disrespectin’ Claire’s love,” he’d told Mac repeatedly. “Can’t be buryin’ yourself in your work. It just ain’t right.”

Shane had lined Mac up with every woman he and his wife, Trudi, knew. When that hadn’t worked, he’d set him up with an old Army pal of his and never once blinked an eye when Mac agreed to meet with the man.

“You’re just like my little brother. Still waters run deep, eh, Taylor?” Shane had commented to Mac the evening before the ‘arranged’ date. Mac had answered honestly, sharing with his new friend the truth about his sexual preferences.

“Up until Claire,” he explained, “I’d say most of my relationships were with men. When I met her, the pendulum swung back the other way, and I haven’t looked at another man since.”

Unfortunately for Shane’s Army pal, the Taylor pendulum wasn’t quite ready to swing in the opposite direction again, and the date had been a total failure.

After waving good-bye to several of Shane’s colleagues, Mac commented, “Jake’s a good name. I’m sure your brother would’ve been honored to know you’re naming your son after him.”

Shane stopped next to his truck. He’d driven into the city instead of taking the subway. “Speaking of Jake, I’m meeting up with his former boyfriend for drinks. Wanna come along?”

Mac rolled his eyes. Shane was just too obvious sometimes. “You’re matchmaking again, aren’t you? Will you never quit?”

Unlocking the driver’s side door, Shane laughed. “Nope. I’m a born romantic. Just ask my wife.”

Mac didn’t need to ask Trudi if her husband’s claim was valid. He’d visited their home on several occasions and had seen Shane in action. Romantic didn’t even come close to describing it. Shane adored his wife and spent nearly every waking moment of every day proving his love. Mac knew it was emotional fallout from the terrorist attack and made a concerted effort to control his thoughts of Claire when Shane went a bit overboard with the flowers and candy.

“I take it this guy knows what you’re up to?” Mac nodded in the direction of the nearest subway access.

Shane grabbed a jacket from inside his truck before locking the door and following after Mac. “He’s looking forward to meetin’ you. Like somebody else I know, Don’s been puttin’ in way too many hours at work.”

“Trying to forget Jake?” It wasn’t subtle, but Mac needed to know if this Don was on the rebound or, like himself, ready to get on with his life. He’d had enough heartache to last a lifetime. There was no way he’d play substitute for a dead man.

Shane stopped Mac with a look. “We’ve all done our grievin’, Mac. Don’s good.”

In an instant the tall Irishman went from somber seriousness to good-natured mischievousness. He waggled his eyebrows. “Don’s good. Very good. Jake liked him.” Shane aimed another lift of the eyebrow at Mac. “Liked him a lot, if you get my drift.”

Mac grinned. “He got the ‘Jake’ seal of approval, I take it?”

Shane laughed and started walking again. “Something like that.”

As Shane had done earlier, Mac looked back over his shoulder at Ground Zero and spared a thought for the young man who had sacrificed his life on that fateful day.

The last time he’d visited the Winchester household, Trudi, the chattiest woman he’d ever met, had decided it was time for him to meet the family, so to say. The two of them had spent over two hours taking a Kodak tour of the Winchesters, past and present. It wouldn’t have been so bad except for the fact that the tour had been conducted while sitting on the ‘new’ living room couch, one of Trudi’s latest sidewalk rescues.

Mac had been searching for a polite way to extricate his sore backside from the lumpy cushion he’d occupied for way too long when Trudi finally got around to ‘introducing’ him to Jake. She’d babbled on about her dearly departed brother-in-law for a good thirty minutes or so. The man was a saint according to her, somewhat of a rascal with bad-boy looks, but a saint, nonetheless. Mac had listened with only half an ear. He’d been too busy scrutinizing the photos laid out before him.

Trudi was right. Jake was undeniably attractive in a bad-boy way, sort of a young Sean Penn. And yet, what had really caught Mac’s attention on that day were the men Jake dated. The majority had been tall with dark hair and dark eyes, exactly the type of man he found attractive.

Darting across the street after checking for traffic, he waited for Shane to shoulder into his jacket before taking the stairs that would lead them to the subway. “What kind of work does Don do?” Mac felt his groin tighten with anticipation at the memory of the photos of all the men Jake had dated. Maybe it was time for the pendulum to swing the other way.

Shane’s reply derailed his thoughts. “Don’s a cop,” he answered. “Works out of the 53rd precinct.”

Mac stumbled on the last step and thanked his friend when Shane grabbed him by the arm and stopped him from hitting the pavement face first. “He’s a cop?” he asked. “From the 53rd precinct?” Shaking his head in disbelief, Mac followed blindly after his friend. It couldn’t be. Just couldn’t be.

“Don’s actually a detective.” Shane pulled out his wallet and liberated a subway token. “Trust me, Mac. Jake had excellent taste in men. You’ll like this guy.”

Closing his eyes, Mac swallowed hard. “What’s his name again?”

“Don. Don Flack.”

 

“Hang on a second, Mac.”

Elsie halted Mac’s stroll down memory lane with a wave of her hand. “Looks like Leslie’s having a problem with her patient in cubicle six. I’ll be right back.”

It took three of them to restrain the elderly Mrs. Cunningham and, by the time Elsie returned to her own patient, several strands of hair had escaped the French braid she normally wore to work. Smoothing the unruly locks back into place, she smiled when she discovered Mac had fallen asleep with his head resting on the bed next to his partner’s hand. She performed a quick assessment of both her patient and the machines monitoring his status, then left the two men to their dreams.

She had just finished the required 24 hour check of all patients’ charts when Mac joined her in the small office designated for this task. He offered her an open bag of freshly microwaved popcorn. “Time for a break?”

Nose twitching, Elsie instantly fixated on the hot, buttered kernels. The popcorn smelled absolutely delicious and was so not a part of her diet. She quickly calculated the amount of carbs she’d ingested during the day and discovered she was way below the total she normally set for herself. “Give me that bag, you evil man,” she demanded with a smile.

The bag was handed over without hesitation, and Elsie nearly swooned when the first kernels hit her taste buds. “Oh God, that tastes so damn good.” She ignored the chuckle that greeted her enthusiastic declaration and reached for another handful. “Oh shut up. I haven’t had popcorn in I don’t know how long.”

She savored one final handful before giving the bag back to its owner. For a brief moment she glared at Mac. “Do you have any idea how long I’ll have to exercise once I get home?” Not expecting an answer, she led the way out of the office and into Flack’s room. She immediately noted the near-empty bag of IV fluid. “Care to finish the story you were telling me earlier?” she asked once Mac resumed his seat.

The man didn’t respond right away. He shifted closer to the bed and took Flack’s hand in his, gripping it tightly while staring intently at his face. It was almost as if he was willing his lover to wake up. Elsie offered up another prayer, requesting the unspoken wish be fulfilled.

“Mac?”

The sound of a deep shuddering breath filled the room and for a second it tugged on her heartstrings. She quickly busied herself with her patient’s IV, adding a new bag of fluid, checking the actual site in the bend of Don’s left arm. By the time she returned her attention to Mac, it appeared he had wrestled his emotions back under control.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on Don’s face when he found out I was his date,” Mac said. He gave Elsie that rare smile, the one that lifted both corners of his mouth. “At first Don thought I was just there for a drink. He was shooting pool and saw me standing at the bar. Before I knew it, he was walking over and…”

 

As soon as they entered Kate Kearney’s Pub Shane was surrounded by well-wishers and acquaintances who understood the true significance of the day. Good-naturedly, Mac stepped to the side and waited for the crowd to disperse. He was in no hurry. In fact to be honest, he was somewhat reticent about meeting Don.

It had nothing to do with the man himself. He liked Don, more than liked him, in fact. The detective was handsome, smart and had a wicked sense of humor that Mac not only enjoyed immensely but also envied.

No, the reason he was milling at the door instead of actively searching for his date was basically because the moment of truth was at hand. A colleague he worked with on a regular basis was about to learn the true nature of his sexuality.

Mac briefly closed his eyes in an attempt to understand why that fact disturbed him so much. It wasn’t that he was ashamed; he’d long since come to terms with his desire for both men and women. It also wasn’t that he didn’t trust Don with the information. He’d always thought of the man as a stand-up guy -- honest, trustworthy and decent. Not only that, but he was pretty sure Don understood the consequences associated with gay couples. If their relationship was made public, it could jeopardize their careers, not to mention, endanger their lives.

Mac shook his head. There it was, the reason for his hesitation – Don’s well-being.

It was one thing to put himself in jeopardy. He was a former Marine and had no doubt he could handle any shit that came his way. Don, on the other hand… well, he knew he’d never be able to forgive himself if Don was hurt because of him. He’d been down that road before, way before Claire, and the pain of that tragedy still lingered.

Mac opened his eyes, and the first person he saw was the young detective. Don was over in the corner, shooting pool. Taking a deep breath, he mentally shook himself. To be honest, he was jumping the gun just a bit. Don had no clue as to the identity of his date. Not to mention, there was the distinct possibility that dull, brooding CSIs weren’t his type at all.

“Talk about putting the cart before the horse,” Mac mumbled. He glanced toward the bar. “Maybe it’s time for a drink.”

He had just given his order to the bartender when someone clasped him on the shoulder. “Mac? Mac Taylor?”

Mac swallowed hard before turning to face the man he hoped to spend the evening with. “Don,” he said in acknowledgement. “Nice to see you. Can I buy you a beer?”

“I’m good.” Flack showed him the bottle he was holding in his left hand. “What brings you to this neck of the woods? Didn’t think you were a pub sorta guy.”

“You’d be surprised,” Mac answered. Surprised in more ways than one, he thought to himself.

Leaning slightly to the side, Mac took his beer and instructed the bartender to run a tab for him. Hoping the alcohol would not only settle his nerves but also clear away the lust obstructing his airway, he gulped down several swallows of the cool liquid before turning to face Don again.

The man looked good, damn good, in his Levis button-down jeans and a blue turtleneck pullover. He had the sleeves of the shirt pushed back, no doubt in deference to the pub’s warm interior. It revealed the light covering of hair on his arms, and for a brief second Mac couldn’t help but wonder if he’d find a similar thicket of hair spread across Don’s chest.

That particular thought only made it more difficult to breathe, and he quickly took another, larger swallow of beer. “Do you know if the DA was able to get that search warrant we requested this afternoon?” he asked, referring to the case they were currently working.

He made the mistake of glancing up at Don and caught sight of the curious gaze examining him from head to toe. It lingered somewhat longer than acceptable on certain areas, and Mac found himself shifting in embarrassment.

Flack unabashedly grinned at his discomfort. “The warrant should be waiting for us when we get to work tomorrow.”

One half of his brain catalogued the answer while the other half mimicked his companion and took a tour of the scenery he’d visited earlier. His opinion remained the same. Don looked good, good enough to fuck.

Mac emptied his beer on that particular thought.

He was collecting his second drink when a cue stick was waved in front of his nose.

“Wanna shoot some pool?” Flack inquired.

Mac tore his gaze away from the thumb Don had hooked into his belt, and the rather robust territory that lay beneath it. “Sure,” he forced out.

Don had won the coin toss and was about to break when Shane finally showed up. He threw his arms around both men and hugged them until their bones creaked. “Guess my matchmaking skills weren’t needed after all.” Shane slapped Mac on the back first, then Don. “You guys good? Or do I need to stay and referee?”

The look on Don’s face was priceless, one Mac knew he would never forget as long as he lived. It was as if his friend had just discovered he held the winning lottery ticket. There was shock, disbelief and utter delight chasing across his features. Mac looked closer and immediately reached out a hand when he saw how rapidly the color was disappearing from Don’s face.

“Flack?”

Shane also noted the sudden loss of color. “Maybe you two should grab a table,” he suggested. “Don’s not lookin’ too good.”

Shane led them toward the rear of the pub where there were fewer patrons. Mac followed, with Don bringing up the rear. He couldn’t help but grin when he overheard his date’s mutterings.

“Mac Taylor. I’m on a date with Mac Taylor. Holy Mother Mary of God.”

His smile widened when he heard what Don said next.

“I’m dreaming. I’m fucking dreaming,” Don declared. “No way in hell is Mac my date. Shane’s pulling my leg. That’s it. Gotta be it, right? Mac’s straight. Had a wife. No way is he gay. God, I’m so gonna kick Shane’s ass for settin’ me up like this.”

Don’s reasoning seemed to be heading in the wrong direction, and Mac was suddenly afraid their date would be over before it had even begun. He turned abruptly, caught Don by the arm and stated plainly, “Shane is not pulling your leg. I am your date for the evening.”

A flush of embarrassment crawled up Don’s neck and suffused his face. The man then ducked his head for a second, leading Mac to believe he’d been a bit too abrupt. He was ready to apologize when Shane grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into a chair.

“Now, you two play nice, okay?” their resident matchmaker instructed. “And I better not hear that any of my boys were called out tonight ‘cause you two set the sheets on fire with your nonsense.” Laughing at the bawdy joke he’d made, Shane left them alone.

Mac watched until the view of his friend was blocked by one of the pub’s waitresses. Taking advantage of her presence, he ordered another round of beers. It wasn’t until she left that he discovered his date had yet to take a seat at the table. He was in the process of turning to ask why when his companion touched him behind the ear. The touch was very light, barely a caress, but in seconds flat the brush of that one finger had him struggling for air and wishing he’d worn looser slacks.

“Don?”

A pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders and prevented him from turning in his seat.

“For a moment there, when I saw you at the bar, I seriously considered cancelin’ out on the guy Shane had set me up with. Thought I’d rather hang with you than with some stranger.” Another ghost-like touch tickled him behind the ear. "Good thing I didn’t, huh, Mac?”

Mac forced his head to move in assent.

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” Flack continued, his hot breath warming Mac’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re my date. So glad, I’m bettin’ Shane’s boys do indeed get called out tonight.”

Mac tilted back his head, allowing it to briefly rest against Don’s flat abdomen. He knew what was being asked. Was he ready to take it that far, that soon? Closing his eyes, he logged the evidence his body was presenting to him. Increased heartrate. Shortness of breath. Skin damp with sweat. Intense heat pooling between his legs.

His body was definitely agreeable. What about his heart?

“What do you think, Mac?” Flack pulled out a chair and sat down. He crowded him just a bit, just enough for their arms and thighs to touch. “What do you think their chances are on gettin’ called out tonight?”

Mac looked over at his date. Don’s eyes were flashing with mischief, his devil-may-care grin contagious as hell. Smiling in return, he brushed the back of Don’s hand and stood up. His heart, it seemed, was just as agreeable as his body. “I guess that depends on who wins the most games of pool? You up for a little stick action?”

“Jesus Christ,” Flack exclaimed, shaking his head in amusement. “Did I hear you right? Did Mac Taylor just ask me if I’m up for some stick action? Seriously?”

Don rubbed against him as he rose from his seat. Mac sucked in a breath when the blatant proof of his date’s arousal nudged him in the ass. All blood and gray matter immediately traveled south of the equator.

Grateful for the bar’s dark interior, Mac adjusted himself. Without a doubt Don was going to win the first game of pool.

 

“In fact, Don won every game that night. And not because of his skill with a stick.” Mac scooted his chair closer to the bed and worked his hand beneath the covers. He rested it over his lover’s heart. “Let’s just say Don’s not subtle in any way, shape or form.”

Elsie laughed. “Kept your motor running all night long, I take it?” She didn’t wait for Mac to respond. The blush staining his cheeks was answer enough.

She glanced at her watch. “Time to make rounds.”

A quick assessment of her patient was done before leaving the room. Looking back over her shoulder, she smiled when she saw Mac lower his head to Flack’s thigh. She heard rather than saw the man’s quiet yawn of exhaustion. The man had to be dead on his feet. For that reason alone, she fully expected to find him sound asleep by the time she returned.

It was at least twenty minutes before Elsie made her way back to cubicle eight. Instead of entering, she stood in the doorway and looked her fill of the two men inside. Suddenly her heart fluttered in amazement.

Don Flack, his eyes barely open, was tenderly caressing Mac behind his ear, using just one finger.

“Thank you, Lord,” she whispered before slowly backing out of the room.

 

fin

[You can find me on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Written several years ago for a zine. Dug out of mothballs at the request of a fan. All mistakes are mine.


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